


Angels are Calling

by TeneTheWriterOfLife



Category: SuicideAwareness and Mental Health
Genre: #MentalHealth #SuicideAwareness, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:12:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeneTheWriterOfLife/pseuds/TeneTheWriterOfLife
Summary: Depression has always been there. But the voices are stronger now, beckoning towards a new world; a fresh beginning.Maybe finally, I would set myself free
Kudos: 1





	Angels are Calling

They’re calling. I hear them every moment of my wretched life. Beckoning me to somewhere brighter, more beautiful than my world. Perhaps it is selfish of me to want to leave. But in the darkness, nobody gave me light. When I was drowning, no one reached out for me. When I was struggling, not a single soul gave a damn about me. So why should I stay for them? They didn’t care anyway.  
Pleasure that I felt from mutilating myself was twisted, I know. Ugly scars crisscrossed my arms; a patchwork of shame, almost. And still my knife dug deeper, relishing in being able to give the pain. Everyone else; they were powerless to make me suffer like this; this self-inflicted harm. Yet still, I was looking for it. Looking for something that I wanted; I just wasn’t sure what it was. Until I found it, the knife would continue to make it’s journey of crimson upon my flesh.  
It wasn’t honorable. It’s wasn’t brave. And I know that. But perhaps even the weakest and most cowardly people needed to feel a sense of control; a grasp over a life quickly spiraling into a bottomless descent. Even this, however, did not alleviate the indescribable pain of living. In all honesty, I just wanted to go.  
I’d always been too afraid. Too guilty about who I was leaving behind. Now was different. Now, I felt strangely satisfied at the thought of leaving this torture behind. Suicide was my performance. I would orchestrate everything; how I died and how they found me. And of course, it would be one performance only. The last performance of a futile, desperate actor.  
Finally, everything I had tried to preserve but failed to was about to end. Finally, the calls would be no longer. That fantasy world would become my reality.  
I was free…

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not trying to glorify depression by writing about it. Rather, I just want to spread some awareness about teenage suicide and other mental disorders. 
> 
> If you feel uncomfortable with this, I do apologise greatly. I will take this work down if it's too disturbing


End file.
